Baggage

There was so much,
heavy-handed
and handed over.

And in denying
the walls,
the floors,
we lived without
the boundaries.

Denied the 
brown paper parcels
weighing 
pounds on the doorstep.
We denied the rocks
in our chest
making gravel
with our heart valves.

From chairs,
on the beds
we shouted
blindly
and wholly

"I HAVE NEVER BEEN!"

"I'LL NEVER BE AGAIN!"

To silence the 
bleat of our heart,
all gravelly deep
"You are,
you will be,
always have been"

Passed down by the stars
and weathered hands
of babushkas,

You are.
You are.
Existing.

"THAT IS NOT A SOFA!"

"YOU ARE NOT A BOY!"

Rainy afternoons spent
in shouting matches
over what needn't be.

Denied, denied,
all through our
lives,
afternoons
of booming voices.

All the totems,
treaties,
traditions pressed
into our hands
by the moon 
and the sun.

We would shout

"NO NO NO!"

No,
this was not my body.

No,
these were not my walls.

No,
these stones in my veins
were not mine.